osirisredduelist replied to your post “i think i really want to write some yugioh drabbles, so i’m open for...”
Write something with our muses then. It should be fun
jdshkfja this is so vague like wow
He rises with all the force of a snarling beast--eyes blazing, fangs bared, mouth open in a roar to protect his territory from those that would defile it. The blackness around him mourns for his loss, black tendrils of smoke and ooze cling to his form like desperate children to their mothers, crying come back, come back, but he does not acknowledge them.
He cannot.
By instinct, he walks forward, one slow step after another as he pushes his hands against invisible walls, trudging through grueling darkness to a destination that he can't comprehend yet. But that's fine, because he has been in darkness for so long that he sees what he wants through its thickening fog, despite its wishes to keep him in.
(They rejoice as much as they mourn, because, oh, our King, our King, he's awake and he's here. Our King is awake and he yet moves. Rejoice!
--But they mourn because he is gone now, away from their loving clutches, where they have held and nourished him for the eternity before.)
When he reaches his destination, the haze of sleep has faded from his form, the barest of sunlight blinding his vision, but his gold eyes flash at the torment he feels from within his vessel. It cries in dangerous decibels of its lament for friends long gone, of an ideal broken, of a need to save everyone despite their lack of need for it.
It cries for a fantasy that has shattered beneath its trembling hands, and at that moment, the newborn darkness strides forward, soft steps dissolving for loud armor.
"Do you want power?" Haou asks the question he knows very well the answer to, if only to save his other half from suffering any longer.
oh my god all of these are so hard to imagine but hmm ... your pick! carnival, dancing, or pranksters. c:<
carnival: modern times au | also slight crossover but can you tell which anime/manga?
Never in a million years could Naraku ever dream of attending a festival—especially a festival meant to honour the local land god. Times had changed, certainly, but time never softened old villains. It was the loss of a goal that softened him. Six centuries without even the slightest rumour about the jewel had made him quite docile.
He wandered along the stalls of the festival, dressed in his old, purple kimono. Even amongest the traditional clothing worn around him, his came from a time period long lost. Real silk, handmade by the best that used to be in the land, not like those factory made kimonos. Naraku detested them, but he could do nothing to halt the westernization of his homeland.
“Kagura,” he greeted her at the end of the festival, near the lanterns. She was dressed in her old clothing as well, fan tapping impatiently at her side.
“You’re late,” such audacity once could have gotten her killed, but she knew as well as he that he would not risk such so many witnesses, and that he was not the same man he was before.
“Don’t reprimand me, woman,” he retorted with a sneer. “I have more important business than to attend a festival.”
She stalked off towards the festivities, and he followed suit. No matter how much he may have detested being away from his office or work, once in a while she (or even he) would call for just an hour or two—for bonding. Six centuries could heal most wounds, but Kagura’s distrust of him took a lot more mending than just staying away from each other.
She stopped at multiple stalls, mostly to glance at the items on sale and to pester him to spend his money on her. At the end of the day, she had three good luck charms wrapped in her obi, a mask fixed on the side of her head, and three sticks of dango eaten and in the trash—courtesy of Naraku’s wallet.
She stopped one last time at a game, and gave him a knowing glance. The spider demon shifted towards the stall owner and asked for a net and a bowl. The more fish he could catch in the span of a minute, the bigger the prize.
The timer began, and Naraku used his fast reflexes and occasionally his tentacles (when the owner wasn’t looking) to put as many fish in the bowl as possible. When the timer stopped, all of the fish had been crammed into the bowl.
“You cheated!” the owner cried in despair.
Naraku raised an eyebrow, but did not acknowledge him. Sure, he did, but no one saw except for Kagura. “I won fair and square, old man. Do I need to take this to court?”
“No, of course not—” the other replied.
Naraku gestured towards the stuffed animals that littered the tent walls. Kagura grabbed three of the largest, and passed one to him.
The eight beady eyes of a stuffed, black spider stared at him.
i warned you that i was going down with this ship -- fem!naraku/sesshomaru hate romance
also really bad writing so click at your own risk
She laughs at his frustrated gaze.
Eight tentacles float freely from her back, weaving in and out of the circle as if she was sewing a wound. The moment he strikes, she reels them back in as his attack hits her barrier. On the occasion that she was too slow, she would only smirk as her tentacles regenerated, leaving no trace that the daiyoukai across from her had ever made a mark.
"Insects," she starts again for what seemed like the hundredth time. "Are not so easily killed."
"Cockroaches," he repeats. "Are just so."
Some part of her would bristle at his response, and her barrier would fizzle at her loss of concentration. Another flash of white later, and she would be but a floating head dismembered from her body.
But she regenerates as she always does, and takes pleasure in his exasperation.
Once or twice the game breaks, and she attacks instead. Poison the field, send out her wasps, or simply just ripping her tentacles from her back and hurling them at him. He dodges more in disgust than he does for safety.
His poison burns off a part of her kimono, and she reels in anger at the destruction of her precious clothing. She attacks more rashly and it is his turn to smirk at her misfortune. In return, she swallows his poison as he breathes hers and show each other that they will never be affected by something so petty.
She begins to tire, and he resumes his attacks. They make no cracks in her barrier and she slams him against a tree. The clash of their power create sparks that shock both of them, but they are nothing more than tiny bug bites compared to everything else they have endured.
He rakes his claws down her front and she hisses in pain. In retaliation, she sinks her teeth into his arm, torso, neck--anywhere she can draw blood. He tugs at her hair, and she claws at his face. He growls and she hisses. He sinks his poison painfully into her flesh and she breaths hers down his throat.
They escape with bruised lips and ruined clothing and wounds that heal as quickly as they are left. Even in such a state, he still seems the epitome of perfection. Her hair is messy and her kimono is ruined. She retreats for her dignity more than in defeat, and he stays to let her know that he is relishing his victory.
If this situation could not be labeled under awkward, Naraku did not know what to call it. Sharing a hot spring with a male daiyoukai--more specifically, Sesshomaru--while he she was at that time of the year was not the way she thought to spend her evening.
She also never thought to spend her evening female and fully a demon.
Naraku would blame it on the heat from the springs, and those dreaded cramps from her stomach, but the dog demon looked extremely attractive once shed of his clothing and mokomoko. The female spider demon plunged her head into the water to clear those thoughts.
It was outrageous, she silently cried. She was a feared demon! She loved to wreck havoc and see others die for petty things, not stand on the far side of a hot spring ogling her enemy. Curse magic and all it's properties, she thought. This was not happening.
He probably knew she was there. She made a loud splash when she went under. Her scent had been washed off with the water, but he would be a fool to not notice the extra occupant. Why was he here, then, if he knew that she was?
The realization hit her like a ton of bricks, and Naraku kept her head under the water. She wanted to poison it so badly. But if she poisoned it, he would leave. And once again, she cursed her sex change and the unfortunate timing of it.
The darkness enveloped him--caressed and nurtured him like a mother to her child, and smothered him in kisses and promises for a better life than she has led. Haou is used to the Gentle Darkness wrapping around his soul. These times he can only close his eyes and let Mother (she insisted he called her "mother", but the darkness was not his birth mother; it was only his caretaker) bring him somewhere else.
He could not remember how many cycles have passed like this. His light would die, and he along with him, but Haou would be carried over to another host again and again until the end of time. He was the Herald of Gentle Darkness--the battle between the Light and Dark was eternal.
He supposed he could envy Judai (that was what his host would be called in this life). The light would be put to rest after he died, and wake up anew with no memories of his previous incarnations.
Haou floated, spun, walked, ran, and could do no more than entertain himself with small gestures as Gentle Darkness found another life for him. Once it did, he would be put to sleep, only to abruptly be woken again in his light's greatest hour.
The king stared with bored eyes at the shape of a woman before him. Darkness tried to make him comfortable. It manifested in the form of his birth mother, but Haou would never accept such an imitation.
"Sleep tight, dearie," the Darkness whispered soothingly and placed a hand on his forehead. The king could only close his eyes and finally rest for--what it would seem to him--a few hours.
"I will see you later," but Haou did not want to wake up again.
Haou was not a romanticist. He never believed in saving his kisses for someone who he felt something other than lust for. And, as cruel as it was to the girl, it was the same case here (or so he told himself).
His gloved hand reached out to her jugular, and slowly traced the veins from her throat to her chin as he lifted the other's head to face him. She was beautiful, he would admit, but the king was never one to fall for just a pretty face. He had seen many women in his time--but Aki was outstanding on her own.
"One night," he said smoothly, and lowly, as if whispering a well-kept secret into her ear. He had done this before. She was his prey, and he was the predator. "To forget all of your troubles. I can provide that."
She did not speak, and he did not expect her to. His hand did not wander from her chin, and his other hand was placed behind his back. He was teasing, with only words and the feel of fabric.
"Loosen your bounds, and be free," he was too dramatic, he wryly mused. Haou's golden eyes seem to glow as he stared into her brown eyes--eyes that reminded him so much of Judai. Their faces were inches apart, and Haou noticed that she seemed extremely hesitant.
Hesitancy would only prolong the inevitable. Haou leaned in and captured her lips in a kiss; the deal was sealed.
Kill Me
It should not have been her.
He was not dueling her, he was not angry at her, he held no grudge against her, but yet--
Inferno Wing's claws tore through the layers of her clothes and cut through her flesh as easily as a knife through butter. Haou's eyes widened as he saw the spill of red from her back, and her lifeless form falling to the ground.
The king was almost paralyzed for the first time in his life. That attack was not meant for her; he was dueling Yusei. That attack had been for Yusei, to end the mechanic's life because Haou was tired of the other interfering with Judai.
But Aki stepped in.
He grit his teeth and let his bangs cover his eyes. A needless sacrifice--did she love him that much?
And for the first time since forever, Haou felt the guilt and regret clawing its way through his body.
How many times has he said that now? He could no longer keep track. Haou could not remember a time when he did not carry such duties, when he was ordinary and unaware of his powers.
He was eight when the elders foretold of his strength, and the king took him away from his family.
Did I--have siblings?
His mother and father were fresh in his memory, their sorrowful faces as they watched him go. Years later he would forget about such frivolities, because he had been spoiled by riches and artificial love.
He had... a brother? A sister? None of the above?
He had a dog. Outstanding Dog Marron, the only companion he was able to keep from his life before becoming the Herald. But Marron had changed. Marron was as old and weary as himself. Outstanding Dog had become Skull Dog.
He did not know why he was contemplating his past. It was not important anymore. It was the past. The only relic he cherished even remotely was Yubel, but he would not call her a relic.
She was a friend, a lifeline, and his grasp on sanity.
The king rubbed his temples and looked at the piece of paper in front of him. A child's letter had gotten mixed in with his official paperwork, and to humour himself he decided to decipher the writing and read it.
Mister Haou,
The people in my village are really, really sad! No one has anything to eat since we lost our animals to the ocean! Please send us help! The villagers said the only one who could is you.
Max
He flung the letter to the trash bin.
It had been a month since the letter had been sent, and the village in question had already died out. He would be replacing its residents with new ones. The inner city was becoming crowded and he needed to start moving people out.
He had more important things to worry about than one measly village.
But that tiny shred of guilt would not leave him alone.
